Cats Eat Mice
by Troodon
Summary: An encounter between a cat and a mouse. Did I say the mouse was Dawlish, the auror? Doesn't his name sound familiar?


A/N: This plot bunny is a bit...strange but plausible, and came into my head after reading in HBP that Dawlish was at Hogwarts. Enjoy, and please review!

_Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and publishers. No money is being made off this, no offense or infringement meant._

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**Cats Eat Mice**

The Auror Dawlish, who had graduated top of his year and achieved O's in all his N.E.W.Ts, who was once one of the top Aurors in training, was still one of the top Aurors of his day, and once part of the personal bodyguard to Cornelius Fudge, was relegated to…patrolling a _school_.

_It's not too bad_, he thought from his post near the Gryffindor common room. All he needed to do was stand and watch, but his fingers itched to be on his wand, taking down some Death Eaters, perhaps, or doing duty in someplace wet and cold…Dawlish smiled slightly. Maybe it was better to be at Hogwarts.

He heard brisk footsteps behind him. _Duck, duck, duck...duck?..._a dull tap on the stones that sounded somehow familiar.Dawlish spun around instinctively, his hand shifting towards his wand. He half-expected a Death Eater mask and swirling black robes, or something, but instead—

"Well, Dawlish. Back at Hogwarts?"

A pleasant voice, but one that Dawlish knew could turn steely and firm. He knew that voice well, had heard it lecturing, had heard it reprimanding him…

He swallowed and quickly regained his composure, for he was not an Auror for nothing. He had to look up (for he was a short man), and the lady he faced was tall, very tall, now that you think about it, looming over him…

"Ah…yes. Good day, Professor," he managed to say, looking Minerva McGonagall straight in the face, if not in the eyes. She looked a little older than he remembered from his school days, fine lines framing her eyes and mouth, a little silver in her hair that hadn't been there a year ago during the confrontation with Dumbledore in the Headmaster's office…Dawlish winced.

But she was still the same formidable professor who'd given him a talking to after he'd accidentally transfigured a fellow student (into a pink furry four-legged animal) during his fifth year. The furious professor had taken away twenty points and given him detention for a week…then had praised him afterwards on his ability, awarded him five points, and told him to 'keep working at it'.

"Nice day, isn't it, for the first day of school?" she commented, still in that eerily pleasant tone, despite the fact that the Great Hall roof had bared billowing storm-grey clouds that morning. Dawlish nodded politely.

"Yes, professor, nice day."

They continued for a while in that vein, exchanging pleasantries about the day, the weather, the school, his record high N.E.W.T marks…and then Dawlish made his first mistake. He relaxed. So suddenly when the professor asked him about his old school pet (why did she want to know, anyway?), he replied easily,

"I had a toad. Back then it was all the rage, I guess you can say."

The pleasant voice grew cooler, and then Dawlish realized they'd gotten to exactly what the professor wanted to talk about.

"I despise _Toads_," she said quietly, somehow spitting out the word 'toad' with so much venom so that he thought of 'toad' with a capital 'T', all big and fat and blowsy. "Especially their buggy eyes."

Dawlish, startled at the sudden change in topic, didn't say a word.

"And their…fluffy pink cardigans," she added with distaste, and the silent Auror knew whom she meant.

"Professor, you cannot mean—" he began in a feeble protest, but her gaze was intense and he finally met her eyes, deep pools of grey and green, drawn to them like a moth to a light that will eventually burn it. He squirmed like a truant child. His conscience, carefully suppressed ever since the night outside Hagrid's hut, rose up inside him.

"I also dislike…mice," she continued, never taking her eyes away from his face. He shifted his feet nervously.

"Oh. Do you? I-I don't like them either."

"No, not at all," she agreed. "Nasty, cold, _cowardly_ things. They run at the first sign of trouble, never mind facing it. Never did like mice…or rats, for that matter…"

Dawlish had a feeling she wasn't talking about pets or animals anymore.

"You know what mousetraps are, Dawlish?"

He forced himself to reply, "Er…Muggle things, aren't they?"

She smiled, and Dawlish rather wished she hadn't. "Strangely, I have some Muggle moustraps in my office. Not that Hogwarts has mice of course…" her tone was thoughtful. "Those vermin come from…outside." Again that smile, and Dawlish knew she was watching him fidget in shame. Did she know the uproar he went through, publicly and privately, after that night? He'd wanted to leave the Ministry then and there, but it _was_ a good job with steady pay, and he hadn't trained three years for nothing. He'd hope the whole thing would just blow over.

"Professor McGonagall, I—"

"Cats eat mice, did you know?"

Before Dawlish could think of anything to say, a student came hurrying up to them. The Auror sighed thankfully, and for many days he blessed the student's blond pigtails and frantic face.

"Pr-Professor! Someone threw dung-bombs and firecrackers in the common room and the Fat Lady won't open—!"

"I'll be right there, Fiona," she said calmly. "Just let me finish up this talk with Dawlish."

Fiona nodded, glanced curiously at them, and ran off again. Professor McGonagall shook her head. She threw a look at him, and, in quite a different tone than before—more gently—she said, "You're a good Auror, Dawlish."

"Wha—ah, thank you…?"

"But it's time to let go of that toad, don't you think?"

Dawlish stared at her, his mind in turmoil. "Professor, I just want to say I did not intend to hurt—"

Before he could finish, however, there were more loud shrieks, and more students rushed towards them, looking frantic. But the professor looked like she understood, and unexpectedly she grinned.

"Look at them, screaming and shouting," she murmured affectionately, half to herself, but the words were also intended for Dawlish's ears. "Why, I am simply…_stunned_…at their behaviour. Wouldn't you agree, Dawlish?"

He gaped after her as she walked swiftly away.

Stunned, indeed.


End file.
